


the chapel the brothel

by orphan_account



Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 00:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15594330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It's like a religion.





	the chapel the brothel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [namelesslunitic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/namelesslunitic/gifts).



> The title is from "The Pimp and the Priest" by The Dear Hunter. The summary is from "Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out" by Richard Siken.

"I'm going to choke to death," Brian says.

"Kinky," Stewie says around a snort before his face falls slightly. "In all seriousness, stop being a bitch and killing the mood. It's just a collar. You wear a collar all the time."

"What _mood_? There's no _mood_. We haven't established a _mood_. You threw a Halloween costume at me in the middle of May and told me to put it on. That's enough to get you in the _mood_?"

Brian is frustratingly talented at what Stewie refers to as "verbal finger quotes," not that Stewie will ever tell him that. You give these kind of men an inch in compliments and they immediately want a mile in praise. Quite frankly, Stewie blames the farmer and his wife for weaning Brian off his mother too early, but he'll save that observation for their next big blow-out. You shouldn't spend all your cash in one place.

"No," Stewie says as patiently as he can muster, "you in a priest's frock is not enough to get me in the _mood_. You in a priest's frock...well, plucking the youngest bud from the tree, in a manner of speaking, _is_ , however, more than enough."

"You're not asking me to role play a child-molesting priest," Brian says more than asks in a desperate attempt to convince himself that that is indeed not exactly what Stewie is doing.

"I am asking you," Stewie repeats, "to role-play a child-molesting priest, yes. I thought the outfit and the metaphor would be enough to convey that to you; I'm disappointed to see that they weren't."

"I'm not pretending to diddle you," Brian says flatly, hands already at the collar, ready to shuck the thing off.

"You're not going to _pretend_ to diddle me,” Stewie says, inordinately bright. "You're actually going to. Do you not understand what it means to have sex with a minor? You're incompetent but not so brain-dead that that will hold up in court, you know."

Brian looks like his stomach has dropped beyond his feet and all the way to China. "Are you _threatening_ me?" he asks a little hysterically, his voice barely louder than a harsh whisper.

"If it gets you in the mood, then yes," Stewie responds. "If not, then file that feeling away for later and focus on the task at hand." He rolls his neck a little in a show of irritation, and also because he knows how much Brian likes his neck. If he can keep Brian pacified long enough for him to slip into the bathroom and adorn his robes, then he'll have to take the time to dab a bit of concealer on himself, to hide away the love bites that Brian had so enthusiastically bestowed upon him a few days ago.

"I'm not going to be able to get it up," Brian argues, and Stewie smiles, slow and hot, because he's shown his hand far too early.

"I assure you that you'll have no problem getting hard," Stewie informs him. He takes a few steps closer to Brian and places a hand on his chest, and he can feel how hard Brian's tail starts wagging.

"See?" he says, withdrawing his hand. "No problem at all."

"I..." Brian starts, trailing off as Stewie presses a sweet kiss to his cheek.

"Be back in a flash!" he sing-songs as he flounces out of the room.

When he returns, Brian is sitting on the edge of their bed. Their room had gotten quite the makeover in celebration of his eighth birthday; Lois and the Fat Man are frustrating creatures, to be sure, but the upside is that neither of them had said a word when Stewie chose decor that was both sensual and tasteful, and far too mature for his age. Brian certainly looks the part, too, as clean-shaven as a dog can be, sharp in his monochromatic attire, and more than a bit enticing, his gaze hooded in a way that suggested that his brain was warring with his heart, and his brain and heart both with his cock.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Stewie asks. He's learned over the years that Brian is more easily coaxed when his opportunities to, in a word, _brood_ are limited. Stewie had already gotten into character in the bathroom, anyway.

"Come sit with me, child," he intones after a gallows-mournful pause, as if resigning himself to his fate. It's not the sexiest thing in the world, but Stewie can work with it. He sits next to Brian and folds his hands in his lap primly, cocking his head curiously - Jamie Goodson is an attentive pupil, and Stewie Griffin is eager to see what direction Brian steers them in.

"I understand that you've been having some... _difficulties_ ,” he says meaningfully, "getting along with the other altar boys. They've given me their side of the story, and now I want to hear from you: what's going on?"

Hm. Not bad. Certainly not what Stewie was expecting, but he's nothing if not adaptable. "I don't know," he says, looking down at his lap, subtly pinching his thigh through the robes to bring a tear or two to his eyes. "I try to be kind, but they simply don't seem to like me."

"I too know what it's like for kindness to be repaid with cruelty," Brian soothes him. "The boys have claimed not to have done anything wrong, but I've...heard them." He looks at Stewie for the first time since Stewie had sat next to him, and his eyes are big and dark. "I've heard the names they've called you. No one should be called by these names."

Brian's eyes dart away, and his hands fidget nervously in his own lap. He seems to arrive at a decision after a moment and continues. "I've been called by these names, too, and I want to let you know, Stewart, that the church is a place where we celebrate love: our love for Christ, our love for our family and friends...our love for one another, too."

"It's Jamie," Stewie corrects, almost as an afterthought, then: "Do _you_ love anyone, Father?"

Brian meets his eyes again. "I do," he says almost solemnly. "I have dedicated my life to Christ, and I am surrounded by family and friends who love me."

"Do you love _me_?" Stewie asks without missing a beat.

Brian blinks. "I do," he says, so soft it's painful. "Of course I love you, Stew - _Jamie_ ," he corrects. "But the love I feel for you is... _different_ than the love I feel for Christ, or for my family and friends."

"What do you mean?" Stewie asks, looking at him with eyes that could rival a newborn doe's. This is the kind of shit that Rocky could have never taught him in acting class, the kind of skill that only natural talent and practical application can hone - not to toot his own horn, of course.

Brian shifts in a way that Stewie has come to learn indicates he's fully hard, not that he couldn't simply sneak a peek at his crotch and glean that information otherwise. Maybe he can take a moment to toot his own horn, after all.

"Do you have a mother and father?" Brian asks.

 _Barely_ , Stewie thinks uncharitably. "Do you love me like my mother and father love me?" he asks in return.

"I _just_ said I don't love you like family," Brian hisses through his teeth, shooting Stewie a glare before clearing his throat and speaking normally. "Your mother and father love each other, right?"

Stewie ponders this for a moment. Maybe Jamie is a good son with an unappreciative and maybe even abusive family. Maybe Brian feels like saving him today. "No," he answers, throwing in a wet sniffle, rubbing at his eyes with his fists.

Brian shifts again, though uncomfortably this time. Stewie must have thrown him for a loop. "Okay," he sighs, more to himself than to Stewie, shaking his head a little. "Do you know the way a mother and father are supposed to love each other?"

"Yes," Stewie says, quiet and tinged with shame as if this is a secret he's divulging. "The father loves the mother with his..." He pauses for dramatic effect, then lowers his voice even further to a scarlet-red embarrassment. "... _Penis_. Do you want to love me with your penis, Father?"

Brian can't stop himself from snorting. "You're really gunning for that Emmy," he says.

"Emmy? You're so small-minded, darling. I'm taking home at least three Oscars with this performance," Stewie shoots back immediately, a little haughtily. That cute black kid from _Doubt_ 's got nothing on him, though Stewie can't quite bring himself to compare Brian to Philip Seymour Hoffman.

"This has been some weird foreplay," Brian says before dipping back into character. "It's...looked upon unkindly, the way I love you. It needs to remain a secret. I simply couldn't..." He swallows audibly. "I simply couldn't keep my love a secret from _you_ , though. Do you love me like I love you, Stew - god _damn_ it," he curses, " _Jamie_?"

Stewie bites his lip, letting Brian sweat it out for a moment before he answers. "I do love you, Father," he affirms. "Sometimes...sometimes, I even think about your penis. What it would feel like in my hand. I want to know if it feels like my penis when I touch myself."

"Jesus Christ," Brian murmurs. "Would you...do that for me? Would you show me how you touch yourself?"

"I'm a little nervous," Stewie mutters shyly. "Can you show me how you touch your penis, too?"

If the mood were just the slightest bit different, Stewie would laugh at how quickly Brian fumbles with the frock and pulls his cock out; however, the mood is suddenly oppressive, balmy and thick like they're no longer in quaint, suburban Rhode Island but in the guts of the jungle, so instead he bites back a sigh of longing and pulls his cock out, too.

"Your penis is so red," he marvels as he gets his first good look at Brian's cock. It takes all of his willpower suddenly not to coo about what he's affectionately nicknamed Brian's red rocket. "It's a really pretty color. My penis doesn't look like that."

"Your penis is pretty, too," Brian says. Later, Stewie will razz his repressed ass for not only complimenting his cock but for being unable to take his eyes off of it entirely; right now, Brian's face is an open book, and scribbled across the pages is tender hunger. He may try to repress his canine side almost as often as he tries to repress the side of him that's attracted to Stewie, even now, but Stewie knows that taste is a muscle memory, and that Brian's mouth has begun watering because his tongue remembers curling around Stewie's little pink cock before his brain can even conjure the image up. "Touch it for me."

"Like this?" Stewie asks curiously, stroking up and down hesitantly. He wants desperately to jack himself off the way he normally does - rabbit-quick and usually with a couple of fingers or a toy up his ass - but his commitment to the role makes it, in its own way, sweeter - it's been a while since h'"s slowed down and enjoyed the simple, almost soothing motion of his hand on his cock.

Brian whimpers, more dog than man living in that sound, and his cock twitches on its own before he can even get a hand on it. When he does finally wrap his fingers around himself, Stewie whimpers, too. "It feels so good," he says. "I do it sometimes at home in my bed and...and I think about you while I do it."

"I think about you, too," Brian gruffs. "I think about - _fuck_ ," he breaks off, twisting on the upstroke. " - I think about your mouth on me. I know it's bad. I know I'm damned to Hell for it. But I think about you kissing me there...think about you taking me into your mouth like communion."

God, Brian really is a writer at heart. Not the most ground-breaking or original writer, of course, but there's a certain appeal to the metaphor, taking Brian into himself, _my body_ , _my blood_. He wonders, a little dazed, if Brian would ever let him introduce a knife into the bedroom.

"I don't know," he says, and nothing has challenged him as an actor before as much as trying to sound unsure when he's never been _more_ sure about getting Brian's cock in his mouth. "Is my mouth big enough?"

Brian is far gone enough that he doesn't respond with a quip. Instead, he makes a sympathetic little noise and says, "Oh, child, you don't have to worry about taking me all the way in. Just start with - with the tip, okay? C'mere, get on the floor in front of me, on your knees, like - like praying, right?"

 _Like praying_. Well, Stewie isn't the praying type, hasn't gone to church with the family since he was old enough to denounce religion entirely and actually have them understand him, but he _is_ the cock-sucking type, and the position is about the same. Less hands clasped together, of course, but heads are still bowed. He slips off the bed and into the space Brian has made for him between his legs and gives Jamie his first taste of cock.

Brian's leaking like a faucet, or maybe drooling like a baby. Stewie's tasted enough come to know that he likes Brian's, generally speaking. It's a bit strong - the mutt could really stand to drink less coffee and more water - but there's a deliciously foreign element to it that Stewie has come to learn is specific to canines, or maybe to Brian altogether, well-groomed rather than clean.

"You taste so good," he says lowly once he pulls off the tip. He smacks his lips together and furrows his brow slightly. "I mean," he corrects lazily, "what's the white stuff coming out of your penis? It's tasty."

"It's called semen," Brian says, strained, "and your penis makes it, too. Can I - oh, _fuck_!" he cries as Stewie wraps his fingers around his base, right above his knot, and takes him down to the root. "Can I come in your mouth?"

Stewie swallows around him, and he can hear Brian’s tail _whap_ - _whap_ - _whap_ -ing the bed sheets. He pulls off again to ask, "What does that mean?"

"When - I'm gonna _murder_ you when this is over - " he bites out. " - When your penis feels really good, a - a lot of semen comes out of it. My penis feels really good and I - I wanna make sure you don't choke on it."

"I won't choke!" Stewie tells him. "I promise."

It only takes Stewie suckling at the head and brushing his fingers against Brian's knot for Brian to slur out a jumble of curses that would make God Himself blush and come. He always comes a lot - Stewie takes it as a compliment - but he's gone down on Brian enough to prepare himself.

He doesn't, in fact, choke. Jamie Goodson never breaks a promise if he can help it.

"Get up here and sit on my face," Brian tells him once he's caught his breath. "I'm going to eat you out until you come all over those ugly fucking robes."

"Language, Father," Stewie chides him mockingly, smirking, and Brian growls low in his throat as he picks Stewie up himself. It takes a moment for them to adjust to their new positions, Brian on his back on the bed, Stewie perched on his face like a bird on a sill, and then Stewie makes a noise that a mezzo-soprano would be jealous of as Brian begins to lap at him.

It doesn't take him very long to come, either. Brian's got a wicked tongue on him, big and flat and dripping wet, and Stewie's been hard practically since he adorned his robes. He grabs a fistful of Brian's fur and spurts milky-white all over himself, just like Brian had promised. He rides out his orgasm for as long as possible, and when he finally moves off of Brian's face to flop next to him on the bed, his face is all sweaty and red.

"You almost suffocated me to death just now," he says, breathless. "What the fuck, you little sociopath."

"Sociopath?" Stewie scoffs. "I'm an _angel_."


End file.
